


It's okay

by pyropinkfish



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Daddy Issues, Forced chemical bond, Gen, Homophobia issues mentioned, M/M, Multi, Public Sex, References to Knotting, Romantic Comedy, Set around s4ish, Worry not, church hating everyone, even if implied it could happen, issues about consent, some mention of offhand suicide, there is NO mpreg, though full consent is a thing here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 15:44:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2627216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyropinkfish/pseuds/pyropinkfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>-A/B/O world building explained inside notes-</p><p>Grimmons mostly</p><p>Grif's living his normal life, adjusting to how annoying the new rookie is, etc. But when Donut's omegan status pulls Simmons into the first heat he's had since being stationed, Grif isn't so sure what to think. These two omegas who are nothing alike somehow manage to make everything all screwy. Which requires actual effort to fix. Great. </p><p>Only characters seen in the story and their status: Grif - Alpha, Simmons - Omega, Church - Alpha, Tucker - Beta, Sarge - Alpha, Caboose - Alpha, Donut - Omega, </p><p>First ever RVB fic, gotta continue my trend of coming in fandoms with abo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's okay

**Author's Note:**

> Male and female refers to mental or physical outward appearance due to society's construct of the terms. Alpha is either male or female with the inside organs being like a "man"'s. Aka they have the ability to impregnant regardless of outward physical appearances dictating otherwise. Betas are what we would consider normal. "Male" bodies match with "male" reproductive organs, vice virsa with female. Female betas don't go into heat. Omegas are those either outward male or female, with organs that can get pregnant. Heat refers to the only period of time this can happen, much like an animal. "Male"omegas and "female"alphas are considered rare due to evolution and the fact most male omegas are physically inadequate to handle carrying a child and often die. This causes for a lot of prejudice against them. Similiar to homophobia. Which those terms as well as sexuality still exists. ABO is like a second marker for your physical sex. Low aggression or high aggression refers to levels of testosterone. 
> 
> Alpha, beta, and omega also refers to a pack standing. Alphas being the leader and so on. With AIs the terms are used in the context of numberical standing and not sex. AIs don't have actual sexes minus Church who is the original.
> 
> This story mostly follows Grimmons, with side ships furthering the plot.

When the maroon soldier presented as an omega, Grif found he wasn't as surprised as he should have been. Simmons always seemed to be overly obedient, needy, following Sarge around like a lost puppy— no, like an unmated _omega_. Somehow the concept just made sense. Dick Simmons was an omega and that was okay.

\--

It was just another warm and miserable day in Blood Gulch. Grif lingered in the shade, debating if he had enough time for a prenap before Sarge's biweekly meeting where he would take his real nap. The prenap was the most important part of a nap. It would help him be more tired to fall asleep and drone out the annoying voices during the meeting.

After deciding that yes, he had enough time, Grif closed his eyes and tried to focus on anything but the heat. It was Donut's hissingly annoying voice calling for him that pulled him out of his "zone." Upset about this, Grif pretended to not hear him before it hit him what a horrible idea that was.

Sighing, the orange soldier trekked up to meet Donut, greeting him with a hidden scowl. If the lightish red armored soldier noticed, it didn't change how stupidly happy he bounced around. "What is it, Donut?"

"Sarge wanted us to move the Warthog before the meeting."

"And you couldn't do that by yourself?" Grif gritted his teeth.

"What? Are you _kidding_? I can't drive after I just finished polishing my armor. It'll scuff." If there was a word that could describe the innate urge to murder, but being too lazy to do so, this word would be Grif's new middle name.

\--

The meeting proved to be like any other; boring.

The first twenty minutes Grif slept straight through. He was forcibly woken by Sarge's screaming, and because of that, his speech was restarted with Grif's "undivided" attention. A fact that made the Hawaiian want to die from boredom. Could one die from that? It seemed pretty damn impossible to die in Blood Gulch. Like some endless time loop where he was suffered to live forever. Not even a freaking _tank_ could kill him!

In order to not cry from the lack of brain activity he was suffering from, he focused on his teammates. Sarge was busy bitching about the Blues and he didn't really care. What he did care about was what Donut would cook for dinner. Mmm... Dinner.

Grif hummed to himself, blatantly ignoring his superior at this point while he raked his eyes over the others. Lopez looked like he was paying attention, probably had his ears turned off and was playing a computer game. Lucky bastard. Donut seemed fidgety. Unsurprising there. What was a little unsettling was the way Simmons was distracted. He wasn't looking at Sarge and agreeing at every pause. No, his breathing was labored, just barely strained, but as someone with asthma from smoking, Grif knew the signs of panting. Even with helmets on, the vent on Simmons' mouthpiece whistled, his shoulders slumped and head tilted down.

Curious, the rest of the meeting was spent with the brunet watching his comrade, and when the meeting ended, signaling the end of the day, Grif followed Simmons to his room. He actually managed to reach out and grab his arm. Simmons turned, clearly startled by the touch. "What do you want, Grif?"

"You okay, dipshit?" This was the closest to concern Grif would openly show to someone he conditioned himself to refer to as someone he hated.

"Fine." Simmons retracted his arm and shrugged, giving a sharp reply. Then the redhead retreated into his room, shutting the door tight behind him. Grif frowned behind his helmet, smelling something unusual yet very faint coming off of him. Distress was the closest thing he could describe it as. It was pretty damn hard to scent each other with their armor on. It blocked pheromones leaked into the air to prevent enemies from smelling open fear or giving away their location.

It also was a way so omegas could be in the war force and not be worried about their alpha sexed coworkers.

\--

Mornings had a very strict schedule. Donut would wake up before them all, prance around naked after a shower, make breakfast, and then wake everyone up. If you woke up before he called for you, you were best to stay in bed and enjoy saving your eyes from the horrors. Apparently Simmons had learned the hard way. Which is what he gets for being so eager to start the day, unlike Grif, who appreciated any and all sleep he could get.

However last night bothered him so much that laying in bed, he couldn't sleep. He laid with his hands resting on his stomach, examining the difference in his right and his (Simmons') left arms. It was hours when he realized Donut wasn't moving about. Weird...

Curiously, Grif crawled out of bed and put on his armor and helmet. Then the Hawaiian did something out of character for himself. He went to check on Donut.

He had to be dead if he wasn't awake already with breakfast, and quite frankly how he makes that nasty jerky-bacon into pure amazing was Grif's favorite part of the morning. He looked forward to that. Without it, he had nothing.

So he went to Donut's. Only the minute he opened the door of his bedroom, the odor in the air knocked the wind right out of his lungs and set all his nerves on edge. The slimly bastard was in heat. Which shouldn't be surprising. Yeah, there's the Don't Ask, Don't Tell policy, but Donut made it clear of his omegan status, and it was even more clear that he didn't take any suppressants. 'It was bad for your skin' Grif recalled him declaring.

The orange soldier grunted and stumbled into the kitchen on his own, not surprised that he didn't see Sarge or Simmons. If they were awake, surely they would have screamed at him to get to work. Maybe his clock was just wrong? Maybe subconsciously the smell of Donut's heat kept him awake and he was so tired that he was misreading the time as one in the afternoon. But his stomach was growling that 'it's lunch' roar.

"Grif? That you?" The gruff voice of his commander startled him while he began to ruffle around the cabinets for Oreos. Caught red handed with his hands holding the blue package, the red Sargent appeared in the doorway. "Uh huh?"

"Good. I need you outside. Our defenses are down two men. Those damn Blues have the advantage here. We need to secure the area." Wait. Grif knitted his eyebrows together, processing the news over and over in his head. Which was mind blowingly difficult when that rich smell of slick bounced off the walls and infiltrated his helmet with each breath.

" _Two_ men, sir?"

"Donut and Simmons, Grif. Can't you smell it?" Sarge huffed, only furthering Grif's confusion before it finally hit him what he meant.

"Wait— _wait_ is Simmons— is that smell _Simmons_?" He laughed, a wide grin spreading against his lips. Holy shit. How didn't he know till now? Other than the fact that it didn't matter if you took suppressants or not. If a young omega was in heat, it would automatically sync others living with that omega. With Donut being as brash as he was, it wasn't really a wonder that it would force Simmons into his.

But damn. Simmons being something not a beta? Sure it made sense... He was always obedient, willing to suck up to any authority figure, always so uncomfortable about talking about status, its not even like Simmons said he was a beta— oh fuck. Grif should have seen it years ago.

"Grif? Are you listening to me, dammit." Sarge's voice pulled him out of his thoughts, making Grif frown. "What? ... Sir?" He added after a thought.

\--

It was boring, taking his post on top of the concrete base, just watching the other base all alone. He would sleep, but he couldn't rest his mind. Simmons was an omega.

Now Grif wasn't an old fashion asshole who thought that alphas could only be male and omegas only be female. He dated a female alpha once! But it wasn't very common for these to happen. Hence a huge market for prejudice against "reversed" statuses. Grif being a low level alpha, and as well as his slutty beta sister, just went with whatever clicked and not what old republican alphas had insisted they love from years of a patriarch for alpha males.

But this news with Simmons was shocking. He knew the guy for so long and it took a freaking rookie and a pure coincidence for him to find out something so personal? Why didn't Simmons say anything before? It's not like he would treat him differently. Hell, Grif knew about everything else, like his daddy issues. Really, it would have just helped him understand Simmons a lot better with this tibet. Or at least help him understand why his lips were human-centipeded on Sarge's ass.

\--

By the time it was six, Grif managed to sneak back into the base and relax on the couch. Sarge can rot outside in the heat in his suicidal mission against the Blues. But Grif? He was gonna watch reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Priorities man. Priorities.

In the middle of a beautiful Buffy slash Spike moment, he didn't notice the appearance of another figure. It was till that figure stumbled in and sat on the opposite side of the couch next to him that he became attentive of the maroon armor. Causing for Grif to instantly relax, because you know, he didn't want to look like he was that engrossed with freaking Buffy of all things. "Hey, I was just... You know... Leaning in because my zoom is acting up." Smooth cover.

"Right. You haven't seen Sarge, have you?" Simmons grunted, sounding overheated and just plain miserable. Grif arched an eyebrow, looking for any visual signs of this heat. But no, the armor they wore did amazing to mask their scents. It was probably better to be in it than not with the cooling system built in.

"He's outside with Lopez, why? Don't you dare call him in. I have three more episodes of this season." He growled. Simmons made a soft of chuckle/snort before leaning back into the couch and sighing.

"No, I didn't want to see him anyway. What orders has he given you so far today?" Whoa. Whoa- Simmons didn't want to see Sarge? Apparently Grif outwardly expressed his surprise without realizing it because Simmons stiffened.

"It's easier on us all if I just do my work without seeing him this week. Okay?"

"Wanna do my work too and stay extra busy?" Without the smell, Grif forgot that Simmons was supposed to be something similar to a horny sack of pathetic (or you know, like Tucker). Except that every time Donut's whines echoed along in the concrete box they lived in, Grif remembered.

"Hey, why are you even bothering? If I had your excuse, I would be in my room all week." Why couldn't he be an omega?

"It's not like... Ugh. Fuck off Grif." With that, the omega stood up and retreated, leaving Grif to wonder what he did wrong.

\--

That night was awful. Without his helmet, he couldn't filter the sweet draw of sex. Donut and Simmons scent filled every crack of the foundation and made Grif's brain scramble for thoughts. It was so bad that Sarge didn't even come inside, he just slept in the Warthog. Which was impressive. 20 hour cycles of just pure daylight, no darkness, and it only gets hotter in the later hours.

Guess because he had a better sense of smell than Grif, he couldn't handle it. Which was fair, Grif was barely able to function as he laid awake in bed, focusing on the room next to him. He would have worn his helmet, but it was uncomfortable to sleep in, leaving him with too much time to smell the air. Shame his sense of smell wasn't completely shot from the reconstruction surgery via new organs.

Simmons was just so close, in heat, probably also unable to sleep because of his heat. Grif never felt so uncomfortable and satisfied with an idea in his entire life like he was with this tibet of knowledge. The worst thing was the fact he had no instinctive pull to go to Simmons, even though the thought of him kept dancing behind his eyelids. He was a shitty soldier, and worse an alpha with lazy instincts. Mentally he wanted to, biologically, the drive that he should have had just wasn't there.

Of course he would have no clue that it was due to the new organs donated by Simmons that had already bonded them, making the urge to mark anyone as a mate nonexistent. That because his body was under the romantic impression it was already mated, smelling Simmons and having his "body" already so close, his own alpha needs were so satisfied without Grif even having to do anything physically about it.

Leaving him to just wonder why he couldn't stop thinking about Simmons while having no pull to confront him.

\--

Meanwhile Simmons writhed on his bunk, eyes scrunched closed while he battled with demons that taunted him over his status. Nothing like wanting to relief yourself and having the voice of your father screaming at you for something you couldn't biologically control. Always mentally reassuring.

He couldn't sleep, he barely could breathe, the fever that took hold on his body made the medicinal parts of himself burn where the skin connected, causing welts and blisters. He tossed and turned, gasping each time it like he was being punched in the gut with the underlying need he didn't want.

\--

Simmons couldn't lay around and just let himself be crippled with flushed cheeks and thoughts about how to quickly solve his problem. In result he worked. But paperwork wasn't a good enough distraction, he turned to heavy lifting boxes of parts that needed to be moved to the basement anyway. However near delusional from his overworked and aching body, it didn't take much for him to simply collapse on the floor.

Where the soldier was found by the only other soldier who used the basement to hide from responsibility. As soon as Grif saw the pile of limbs that belonged to his friend, he rushed down the stairs to the bottom. Not to seem like he cared, he nudged him with the tip of his orange clad boot.

When Simmons didn't respond, Grif knelt down beside him and shook his shoulders, checking for life. Eventually the paler male stirred, leaning into the touch, longing to actually feel it instead of his armor registering the pressure of another force against it. He would take comfort where he could.

"Jesus, man. What the hell is your problem?" Grif snapped, struggling to stand up and get Simmons to his feet. Once upright, Simmons leaned against the wall and took a shaky breath, getting his suit to use any extra power to cool him down.

One of the major health risks of being an omega was the fever. The stronger it burned, the more pheromones leaked, calling for ideal mates and ovulation, however it also could cause brain damage or lack of proper consent where the omega was so desperate to break the killing fever cooking their insides that they would take any alpha they could. A life bond lowered the risk of death or damaging qualities an older unmated omega could face, while a casual coupling broke the pain for the day.

Media always portrayed omegas for their sex crazed attitudes during heat. What it really was was their sense of self preservation. Let someone have your body just to stop your organs from boiling in your own blood? It sounded pretty damn good. Sure, there was a drive for sexual attention, slick that coated the insides of one's thighs, but the sick to your stomach cramps and heat kissing your person outweighed the urge to do something as primal as fucking. No, being in heat was like a death sentence. You were constantly too hot, hallucinating, tired, sick to your stomach, and the fact your body kept thinking it was horny when mentally you felt too distraught for such things, it was horrible.

"I was... Shut up." Simmons grunted, closing his eyes. If only they didn't run out of drinking water a year ago, soy sauce wasn't going to help him stay hydrated.

The orange soldier huffed, not finding Simmons apathy amusing. "C'mon, you need to lay down, dumbass." With that, he began to help his friend up the stairs.

\--

The fact Grif dropped Simmons off in his bed, got him chocolate milk, then left him, left this odd feeling in his stomach. Loneliness? Probably. Something just yearned for the only person he actually sorta-kinda liked in this hell hole. Yet Grif didn't want to stick around?

Simmons didn't want to put thought into it but keeping away the uneasiness that crept on him was harder than normal. It ate at him. Abandonment, jealously, frustration. All these negative emotions that he wanted to blame on hormones. Of course even if it was the hormones fault, he was still feeling them and that called for a total meltdown. The redhead had to suck eager breathes in through the mouth piece of his mask before deciding to just rip it and his chest plate off so he could have some space to breathe.

Anxiety still tore at his mind's frayed edges.

He had to talk to someone. Anyone that could help him feel calm. Break this cursed fever. Hey— Blue team still water, didn't they? Perhaps his brain was already shot. A part of it was mechanic anyway. Regardless, Simmons redressed in maroon and shuffled his way outside towards Blue base. In the process of completely avoiding any of the Reds.

He just wanted filtered water.

\--

Grif couldn't place it, but he felt like something was really off. Sure he was in fact standing outside, at attention, doing his job. But he couldn't shake the feeling something else was happening that shouldn't.

"Meh." Not his problem.

\--

Simmons wasn't really paying attention to his surroundings. Only one thing was on his mind the minute he got outside with the hot air sneaking in his suit. Alphas could break the fever.

It was a tug that drove him to walk towards Blue base. An unexplainable, irrational tug that Simmons' logical part of his cybernetic mind said "no" yet his instincts screamed yes. This tug drove him right up to the Blue base, where his armor hid his scent well, but not his feverish rambles.

Instantly upon spotting the maroon soldier walk up, Tucker and Church exchanged irritated glances at each other. What the hell did this idiot want? No doubt it was a trap, maybe even some poorly executed attempt for another surrender. Why even send just _Simmons_? Why wasn't his pal with him? They were practically joined at the hip.

"What do you want, Red?" Tucker yelled out from up top of the base, staring down as Simmons glanced at them, then walked straight in, cleverly dodging the bullets Church sent his way. Or you know, walking in a slow, dazed and confused, straight path inside with Church's inability to hit anything with a gun but himself. The sights were off, okay?

"Awe shit man, c'mon, we gotta get him before he hurts Caboose— on second thought. What's the worst he could do?" The light blue armored man asked, genuinely weighing the options here.

"He's more of a tech support guy, he could mess with our computers. Then how will I watch Pornhub—"

"Dude."

"Bow chicka bow wow." Church groaned, making a dash for inside the base with Tucker at his heel.

\--

Simmons was a normally very shy guy. He hated anyone seeing his face, let along any area of his body. The intimate knowledge Grif had his left arm and leg and fucking god even knows what else bothered him on an average basis every time he would look at the mirror and see that robotic eye and implant stare back. That's why most of the mirrors were smashed.

However, in the current stage, he simply didn't care as he wondered along, looking for water, something to cool his skin down, anything. Well, anything turned into nostrils filled of pheromones polluting the air in the base. Simmons wrinkled his nose, then began to follow it to the source in his daze. While the more coherent members of Blue team finally caught up with the intruder.

\--

"Oh, gross. It smells awful in here." Church complained, much to Tucker's utter confusion. As a beta, his nose was dull to the competing warning scents of other alphas or the smells of eager omegas. And this particular smell was a combination of both.

"What? I don't smell any— hey do you hear something in the back?"

\--

Following Simmons into the storage room wasn't hard. Hell, Church was sure he didn't even notice him and Tucker tracking him. Though the leader really had no desire to keep going as the smell grew stronger.

When they rounded the corner, he was ready to up-chuck at the sight. Should have just listened to his gut. His gut wasn't ever wrong before. Except the time he made a dozen copies of himself trying out different solutions to fix his timeline. Either way, nothing could have prepared him or Tucker for what they came upon.

"Holy shit, **_CABOOSE_**?"

\--

At the sight of a certain blond Iowa farm boy, sitting on that other stupid blond boy's lap, completely naked, was enough to scare Simmons back into rational thinking. And gagging.

 _Lots_ of gagging.

It was so much Donut that omegan drive or not, alpha sexed Caboose was never worth it.

"Oh God." Simmons choked, turning around only to bump into Church. Tucker at first chance bailed, screaming about bleach. Seeing Caboose getting laid when he wasn't was just unfair and quite frankly really gross. Church in reply coughed, retreating in step while Caboose took note of him and held on to the pink solider's hips to still him.

"Hi Church!" He cried out in the same happy go lucky Caboose way that he always had. It was followed with a grunt when Donut forced his hands off his hips and sank down on his lap again, ignoring their guests. A shame that Church actually liked Donut. He could never un-see the light sun kissed tan and ass dimples. God, he hoped Tucker wasn't using all the bleach to kill himself.

"Uh, hey Caboose. I'm ah... I'm gonna go now. You just... Stay. Yeah." He backtracked out, grabbing Simmons while he shut the door behind them.

"Why the hell is Donut in our base, you dirtbag?"

Simmons, even through his helmet visor that blocked his face out, looked like he was fading out. He seemed sick, and the fact he was wobbling didn't help that accusation. "Donut's omega." He managed, leaning on the wall for support as a wave of nausea overcame him. Too hot.

At first Church's mind jumped to O'Malley, but that was an entirely different meaning for the word. Then he straightened it out and went straight into a rant. "Well that's just great. When did they start letting omegas in the arm— are you alright man? You're looking a bit pale there— oh you got to be fucking kidding me." Simmons fainted, falling to the ground at Church's feet.

\--

"Hey Redtards!" Church stood at the front of Red base, fully armed with Sheila beside him. Tucker stayed back, gargling with deadly cleaning products while he supposedly watched the unconscious Simmons. Church really didn't want to leave someone like you know, _Tucker,_ with an omega, especially one that looked ready to jump anything for some relief, but there was no way in hell he could stand to be there.

So it left only one other option. Get the Red team to collect their fucking omegas and keep them locked tight.

"Wha? Grif! We're under attack and you didn't say anything! Lazy good for nothing—" Sarge's southern accent breeched his auditory senses first, making Church groan. He glanced around for the red armor, spotting it from up top with the barrel of a gun pointed at him while something orange shifted in sight from around the base.

"What do you want, Blue?" Sarge demanded, growing at the supposed ghost.

"Your omegas. They came to our base. Man, come get them! I don't want to ever look at Donut's ass again." Church shuddered, instantly amusing Grif who sniggered before the full realization of his words hit.

"Uh, omegas? As in plural?" Oh shit, Grif thought Simmons was in bed! Sleeping off that horny fever. Shit, shit he was with the Blues? God knows what he was doing with them. With Caboose. Or worse... Tucker. Grif never felt so motivated to walk anywhere in his life. He was already headed towards Blue base when Sarge's voice droned on about things he didn't care about. No, Simmons was in trouble. Those bastards took _his_ Simmons.

Church watched Grif walk off, and turned to look back at Sarge. "Yeah, that's all man. Donut's kinda stuck with Caboose at the moment, but we really don't want your guys at our base again. Like ever." With that he hurried to follow Grif back, rather surprised the fatass could move so fast.

\--

"Simmons! C'mon, Simmons. _Where is he_?" For an alpha with a low aggression, Church was feeling some hostile waves roll off the Hawaiian. He couldn't help but roll his eyes as he lead him to the overwhelming scent that beaconed them as natural alphas.

"Get your mate and go." Tucker groaned once he saw the orange soldier. He cradled a bottle of bleach along with a bucket, all while the maroon omega laid next to his feet in fetal position, simply moaning incoherently about making it stop, not fair Donut, skin too hot, etc.

Grif stopped, double taking when he processed the words spoken to him. "He's not my mate."

"Pretty defensive for someone who rushed over to get him." Church remarked offhandedly, taking note on Tucker's general well being.

The Frankensteined male grumbled, walking up to the red one to help him stand for the second time that day. "Telling you, he's not my mate. Doesn't mean I want to see him with one of you losers."

"Whoa man, not my type. No matter how much he begged." Tucker sassed, making Church wonder if he was really telling the truth on that matter. He couldn't imagine being so desperate that he would beg for the aqua male. Even if he was in the prime of his heat and in so much pain that fucking or death were the only options for relief.

"You better not have touched him or I swear to god—" A startling loud moan caught him off guard. Grif turned his attention towards the storage room, knitting his eyebrows together.

"Is that... Donut." He cringed, not sure if he wanted to finish the logical train of thought.

"With Caboose." Church finished.

"Oh God. _That's_ disgusting." Grif yelped, grabbing on to Simmons shoulders tight enough that the metal would bruise.

"You didn't get the horror of seeing it." Tucker whispered like one would do after such a traumatic experience.

"Uh, yeah. Well, when he's... Unstuck... Send him back. I'm taking Simmons home."

"To get stuck yourselves? Bow chicka—" Grif groaned while he ushered Simmons out the base.

\--

Back at the base, Sarge had a lecture in preparation. Grif was so thankful he had the excuse of Simmons being mad with his fever that Sarge uncomfortably shut up in favor of retreating to his jeep. The idea of Simmons being an omega wasn't what freaked him out, it was that he was actually in heat.

But Sarge's unwillingness to cope with the anatomy he didn't replace with mechanical bits, Grif was more than okay with. He found himself mother henning the pain in his ass, guiding him to the couch to sit with him. It was a little weird when Simmons latched on to him, their bulky armor pressing in his gut, but Grif knew Simmons would feel more comfortable staying in it. Hell, _Grif_ would feel more comfortable that way too.

\--

"Hey uh Church, I don't think we should send Captain Cinnamonbuns back." Caboose complained, thankfully fully dressed in armor with Donut sleeping on the chair. A blanket was hastily tossed over this bare skin along with the mental reminder to burn the once comfy relaxing recliner. Church let out a loud groan, still entirely freaked out by the fact they had Donut there to begin with.

"We're not letting him stay Caboose. The Reds want him back." He stated firmly, ignoring what he imagined was a big puppy dog pout behind that helmet. Stupid bastard. In retrospect, the whole situation could have been foreseen forever ago. It wasn't like they didn't know the two were good friends. And the whole concept of safe sex between alpha and omega couples probably wouldn't even register to the idiots even if there was a picture book.

"Caboose, if Donut stays. You'll catch pregnancy." Church's only option was to sink down to the level of stupid Caboose lived in. Sure enough, it worked. He instantly shifted away from his mate, unsure about himself or Donut. On one hand, separating freshly mated pairs could cause terrible anxiety for them, on the other, Church really felt like he's seen enough Caboose to last him a life time and then some.

"He's going home as soon as he wakes up." He wasn't sure that really was the final word on it.

\--

"Griiiiiiif."

"What?"

"It's hot. Make it stop." Simmons wailed. The orange soldier frowned, hesitant to ask how he could help. So he tugged Simmons closer, laying back on the couch's arm rest with the skinnier one tucked against his chest and under his arm. Which was mighty uncomfortable with a ton of armor.

"Yeh? Well, even if you actually wanted me to help you, it would require a lot of physical activity and sadly, I'm just not about that life." No. Grif would _so_ move for sex. The problem was Simmons wasn't himself and Grif couldn't consciously live with a bad decision like that.

Plus, I mean, it's Simmons! _Right_? The weird lanky guy who's body parts he happened to now own. Simmons wasn't even his type with those stupid pouty lips made for kissing ass, or his dorky hair cut because half his head was poorly shaved for his cybernetics, or how he had way too many issues with body positivity that made Grif want to kiss every freckle and tell him why he should be proud of each one.

No, Grif didn't love Simmons. So Grif wasn't going to risk getting mated for fricking life in this god awful canyon to a guy he hated.

Right?

\--

Oddly enough, Donut didn't come back until three days later, right around the time Simmons fever broke and instead of snuggling on the couch, he demanded Grif get his fat lazy ass far away from him.

When Sarge felt like it was finally safe for him to come back inside, he found that the two omegas had retreated to taking showers. Which left him and Grif alone in the kitchen.

"You handled that situation fairly well, Grif. I'm surprised." There followed some snide remark that the Hawaiian chose not to listen to. It made everything easer on all parties.

"Uh huh." He muttered, licking the cream out of each Oreo cookie, then chewing on the cookie part slowly, thoughtfully. Mmm... Oreos.

"That was quite the situation. Glad we won't have to go through it again though. You really took one for the team and all." Sarge continued, oblivious to Grif's inattentiveness. Though 'taking one for the team' startled the heavier one into looking up at his commander.

"Sir?"

"Oh you know, mating Simmons? So we don't have to ever hear his bitching again? You really outdid yourself. Who knew you could actually sacrifice yourself?"

"What the hell? I didn't— I'm not— _what_?" Grif cried out, shaking his head violently to the point he risked whiplash.

"No need to be modest, son. It's brave what you did."

"Look sir, permission to talk freely?"

"Permission de— granted."

"I didn't fuck Simmons."

"Oh, that's a shame. You guys make a cute couple." Donut's voice chirped from the doorway, causing Grif to stiffen. Great. He didn't miss the pink male while he stayed with Blue team.

"Shut up, it didn't happen. It's not going to happen." Grif shouted, standing up. He gathered his Oreos and made his way towards his bedroom, ignoring Sarge and Donut. On his way, he bumped into a freshly showered Simmons. His skin was flushed and still damp, and hell, it was surprising to see him without a shirt. Normally after a shower he would dress fully in armor again to walk back to his room. Yet here he was, sweat pants and shirtless with a towel around his shoulders.

"Simmons— hey." Grif half assed greeted, unsure what to say before he made the motion to retreat to his room. Simmons glanced at him then quickly reached out to grab his arm.

"Wait Grif— nothing changed okay? Thanks for not... Just... Thanks. It means a lot to me. I'll be better prepared next time." He began and Christ, Grif really wanted to shut him up. With his lips. Stupid Simmons.

"You're still holding my arm." He stated, noticing how that didn't actually make the ginger stop.

"Yeah. I am. Weird. I don't really want to stop?" He confessed, looking at his organic arm hold on to Grif's original arm, hidden with armor. As if these body parts had a mind of their own, their hands interlocked and soon Simmons was tugging him inside his room. Grif made sure the door was locked behind them.

\--

"Do you think those two ever finally realized they've been mated for a while now?" Tucker questioned, occupying his time with the idea of Simmons and Grif.

Church only laughed in reply. "I doubt it. They're pretty stupid about each other. They'll live in denial for god knows how long."

"Yeah. Haha. What losers." Tucker rested his head on Church's shoulder. The complexity of their utter 'no homo' allowing them to fully indulge in each other. After all, why should they have had to listen to Caboose and Donut have all the fun without having some of their own? That's what friends did for each other.

\--

Grif had to take back everything he ever thought about Simmons. Which was an awful lot of effort. So he chose to instead kiss up his jaw and leave saliva to cool from his chest to his lips.

So being with him just felt natural. Like being satisfied deep to the core of his very being. It was right and shit, they should have admitted it years ago.

Dick Simmons presented as an omega and as an alpha, Dexter Grif really had no problem with him being his mate. And that? That was better than okay. It was perfect.

Sometimes good things just work out.

\--

End

**Author's Note:**

> So now I talk about me. This is my first fic for rvb, which is pretty cool, I like how it turned out a lot. I'll probably write way more, but this was me testing the waters. My tumblr is protectedbythepeacock, totally up for chatting or requests. I write a lot of ABO, but I do prefer grimmons as a ship. Eh. Anyway, yeh. Hope you liked it. uwu sorry for the lack of descriptive smut, I wanted to keep it simple.


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